Page 4 of The Doll Factory (Horror Hotel)

THE DOLL

T ime has no meaning. Pain coats every nerve like an electric blanket, pulsing with heat, and my brain registers it, but it has become part of me. This is who I am now. The figure with distorted proportions that exists in a vacuum of experiences.

Occasionally, a terrifying form will visit me, previously a person, possibly a woman, now a hollow shell like a robot.

Dressed in a tiny, fluffy dress just like mine, she will tend to my needs: emptying my catheter and ostomy bag.

Exchange whatever is in the tubes they inject into me, and then give me the blue syringe, which makes me go to another realm for some time.

The blue melts my brain until I am a reflection of those marionettes, locked inside somewhere deep and only able to have sensations, but do nothing about them.

Help me! I need out!

A terrifying voice sometimes screams inside my sore skull and calls out horrific things, reminding me of darkness and light, places and scenes I seem to want to forget.

If I dwell on the shattering sound between my ears, I know it will destroy me.

“My doll can walk…I am so very proud of you. Two weeks and excellent condition. Obedience, sublime. Even her eyes are crystal clear, seeming to wait for my instruction.” The man with the long scar over his eye says to me while dragging a smooth palm over my bare stomach.

I can’t see where it travels, my giant breasts now forming mountains across my chest. It seems I am unable to do much of anything without his command and part of me desires this. If I give into the blue…it’s exactly who I want to become.

A doll.

While considering my face, the man in the blue scrubs sends his fingers lower. His bushy black eyebrows stitch together for a moment as the tip of his tongue escapes to part his lips. “Do you think I am attractive, my doll?”

If I could speak, I would say yes, but the idea never formed in my mind until he just asked the question.

“You must,” he continues. “Pupils dilated against her blue irises. Nipples peaked hard and red.” At that, he bends and pulls one between his teeth and sucks as a wanton sigh releases from my lungs.

Holding up his voice recorder, he murmurs while letting a digit spread my pussy lips apart. “Soaked from only a tiny taste of her areola. Specimen is highly suggestible and compliant.”

With a sharp click, he shuts off the device and crosses his arms, his sane brown eyes scanning my figure, which desires to squirm under his investigation. But I don’t move.

“Bend over the table. I’ll give you a test of my own before taking you to the auction.”

My body is moving toward the stainless steel gurney in the middle of the white room, laying over the cold metal even while that voice echoes to me.

Auction? Run! Hide! Fight!

“Reach behind you and spread your cheeks.”

No thought enters my mind. I only do . Lengthy blonde waves fall over my back as I widen myself for him.

Shuffles of fabric make me want to tense deep in my belly, but I don’t dare.

Some overriding brain function prevents me from recoiling even when the stiff head of a cock presses against my tight asshole.

“No hesitation.” The doctor shoves in with a sharp punch of his hips, tearing my clenched muscle with his force.

The pain! Agony! It hurts! Stop! No!

Somewhere in my body is an overwhelming urge to scream. Instead of a pulsing comforter over my nerves, the sensation is one of sharpened knives cutting through my connected receptors, telling me to remove myself from this situation as quickly as possible.

But I can’t.

Forced to lie on the slab and take his thickness as he thrusts once, twice, thrice, and over and over and over again. Each one causes a twisting of my thoughts.

Pleasure him. Be a good doll. You love this pain. You need a gigantic cock in your ass.

Kill him. Run away. Harm him. Cut off his dick .

“Such an amazing piece of plastic. You feel this utter shocking agony in your ass and you don’t do anything about it.

You are functioning perfectly , doll. And with your ostomy, I can go in dry.

Clean anal , I’ll market on your box. It’ll be an update to the old models.

” A grunt vibrates all the way through his chest, down into his testicles, which hit my pussy in a rhythmic pattern. “Now with less E. coli .”

His fingers dig into my hip bones, pulling me just as much as he pushes inside. “Let’s see how good my implant has taken hold… Come for me, my doll.”

At the words, my body seizes with pleasure, replacing every burning blade of pain. My pussy convulses at his command, spraying his abs with my orgasm.

“Oh, my darling! You’re a squirter.”

Is he…Is he crying?!

“Fuck!” Even while I reach heights of ecstasy I never knew were possible, his cock swells inside my ass, filling it with heat as he comes deep inside of it. “You should be proud that you pleased me by staying silent and obedient. Just a thoughtless toy. A pure puppet ripe for pumping full of cum.”

He sniffs and slowly withdraws, his spend spilling onto my thighs from my gaping and ravaged hole.

“Miss Watson? Prepare the doll for transport. She’ll need to perform one final test before her auction.”

She shuffles in while I’m still bent over the table while Dr. Miles leaves reluctantly, his hand clutching the frame of the door while his eyes scan my backside one more time. In my periphery, I can just make out that he grasps his crotch again before leaving the room.

Then, another injection of the blue.

With another blink, I must be in a different time, though it doesn’t feel as if any has passed.

In front of me is a red carpeted room, velvety red drapes surround the walls, and in the center are red leather circular booths filled with men in suits who observe the front of the room while sipping doubles of amber colored liquid and smoking cigars.

A stage with a single microphone stands to my right, dimmed, but at the ready with a single light shining on the black plank floor.

Low murmurs travel throughout the smoky atmosphere along with clinking glass and an occasional burst of riotous laughter.

Dr. Miles hovers on my left in a tuxedo while his scar shrinks as he winces to every high pitched sound.

I can’t see exactly what I’m wearing, but I’m betting it looks like the other grotesquely misshapen women skirting through the tables, wearing large numbers on their backs.

Little doll dresses with petticoats as fluffy as marshmallows beneath gingham skirts, thigh high white stockings capped with tiny bows, and a corset top so tight and low, the tops of the nipples peek out to say hello.

Black patent Mary Jane shoes shine in the maroon light like mirrors on their feet.

Dr. Miles clears his throat and points to the room with a wave of his hand. “Doll, you must entertain these men prior to being auctioned off on the stage. Do your best to entice them with your new assets.” The strain from his throat belies the words he speaks. Does he not want me to do this?

Even as I think about it, though, my legs are shifting one in front of the other as I step through the tables with a bright smile on my face. When I pass some tables, men grasp my bare ass beneath the layers of fabric, or even reach for a handful of my enormous tits.

“Damn, this one here looks like she could take the entire table without putting up a fight. What do you say, gentlemen? Want to split the bill?” One bald man shakes his gullet as he speaks, tapping his ash on my shoe. But I keep moving.

With a loud pronouncement, the microphone on stage squelches as a man with a mullet approaches. He is not wearing a typical suit, but something from probably the last decade with its ruffled orange shirt and brown polyester style.

Everyone’s attention is enraptured by the naked woman standing on stage missing an arm.

Her stump is raw and ruby colored, as if the cut isn’t fresh, but maintained to be open.

Shoulder length brunette hair almost covers the dog collar surrounding her neck, but what is most striking is that her belly is round and full, almost as if she could give birth on stage.

“Lot twelve nine-nine here. Pups have been sold to the highest bidder already. We’re selling this prime bitch, who is a known runner. No tongue and, uh, just a stump of an arm to do with as you wish. Starting bid at fifty grand. Go.”

A cacophony of calls comes out of the men as the money rings out in higher and higher numbers.

While distracted with the activity, a pair of hands grabs my waist and shifts me onto a lap before sliding up to my breasts and cupping them harshly.

“Let me try out the product now before your auction, doll.”

Dr. Miles appears at the end of the table and slaps his hand against it, the men sitting around shifting in their seats. “You’ll get your chance, but only if you pay the auction fee first. If you’re serious about touching my creation, you must buy in.”

The way he grips my arm and spins me toward him like his property makes me think he’s angry. “Follow me, doll. Only the men who pay can touch you.” With a deep grunt, he walks us over to a wall where we perch as the auction on the stage comes to a close.

“Sold to the Hucow Hotel owner. Congrats, Cherry girl. You’ll get to feed so many men. Such a good pet.” He pats the heat of the woman, who maintains her gaze front facing before being ushered off behind a curtain.

“Next up, we have our dollies!” A robust man holding a cigar takes over the microphone.

“The highest bidding table will get a taste of what they will receive. Each doll will perform on her knees for all eight sitting down. Just think, no gag reflexes, no squirming away, only fit to please you. Now… I have the table bids in hand. Let’s see. ”

He rummages through an envelope and produces a white card.

Holding it up dramatically to the light, he adjusts his glasses and reads aloud.

“Tables twenty-four, sixteen, seven, nineteen, three, and fifty-six can test out the dolls tonight. Auction for each individual doll will begin after dinner. Enjoy, gentlemen.”

Dr. Miles places a firm grip on my shoulder and points ahead.

“Walk.” I follow his command, teetering on the plush carpet toward a table with a golden plaque reading sixteen.

“Lay on your back and spread your legs.” The gruffness of his voice is harsh, reticent.

As if he doesn’t want to speak the words.

“This is my finest creation. Treat her as such.”

When I lay against the hard surface of the table, my dress sliding up to my waist, my breasts popping out of my top, I focus on the dark ceiling tiles until an old man’s face appears between my spread legs. “Going to take all eight of us, dolly?”

Another gloating figure stands at my head, unzipping his black trousers and swiping at his sweaty forehead before saying, “Open wide.”

I do just as the men tell me to do.

The one between my legs presses his thin chub against my thigh and the other, his veiny short dick on my chin. When the older man attempts to slot himself in my pussy, the furniture beneath me sways to the left slightly. I’m laying on a turntable to give each of them a round easily.

Despite my vision being filled with gray hairy balls from the man poking at my face, my eyes try to find Dr. Miles, my creator.

When they do, the ire that settles on his lips confuses me. Cheeks flushed red and eyebrows narrowed at the men surrounding me. I wonder for a moment what he may do.

And that’s when he makes a move.